Peace
by William Butler Yeats

Ah, that Time could touch a form That could show what Homers age Bred to be a heros wage. Were not all her life but storm, Would not painters paint a form Of such noble lines I said, Such a delicate high head, All that sternness amid charm, All that sweetness amid strength? Ah, but peace that comes at length, Came when Time had touched her form.
Crowd Score: 10.0
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